Dwarven Teachings
by octavia1rat
Summary: At the tender age of 4, Harry is rescued from his abusive family by the Dwarven kingdoms, who have kept their underground existence secret from both Wizarding and the Muggle worlds since the rise of Merlin. What is special enough about Harry for the Dwarves to risk discovery? Will Harry survive growing up in Dwarven society? HHr. Dumbles and Weasley Bashing.
1. War Heroes

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. Unfortunately.**

**AN**

**Hi! **

**First off: this is my first fic, don't be too harsh please.**

**Second: I doubt there'll be lemons, but i might change my mind later. There will definitely be sexual references and bad language so I'll rate it an M. **

**Third: Dumbles and Weasley bashing! Harry is really not gonna like Twinkles, Molly, Ron or Ginny. Not sure about the others yet, but there you go.**

**Fourth: HHr!**

**Finally: I appreciate constructive criticism. I welcome tips and pointers. Tell me when i make mistakes, if you don't i cant improve. Don't flame, there's just no need.**

**Enjoy!**

**P.S Im told having a Beta reader is helpful. If you would like to help, please let me know:)**

Chapter 1: War Heroes

It had been nearly five years since the last meeting of the 4 Dwarf lords of the four kingdoms and Yarak, adviser to Lord Kror was not looking forward to the upcoming meeting. Nothing interesting in the holds had happened in the last two hundred years: the last interesting thing being the finding of a six thousand year old Basilisk in one of the gold mines to the west of Stagnum hold.

The then Lord Krain had to enlist the help of the other 3 Kingdoms to slay the beast after losing hundreds of guards and fifty or so of the elite 'Slayers' the kingdom trained to counter just this sort of incursion.

The beast had been over 200 feet long and had aged so well that its black and dark green scales were able to shrug off the best of runic weapons and war machines. Its killing gaze had swept through the ranks of the Dwarves, killing hundreds.

It had sprayed acid from its mouth like a dragon breaths fire, something never before seen from a basilisk. Then again, no-one had ever encountered one this ancient before. The battle had lasted for 3 days and the ranks of the dwarves, now equipped with thick runic glass eye protection, was being pushed back at a terrifying rate through the cavern like tunnels that connected the mines to Stagnum hold.

The tunnels were truly massive, being hundreds of meters wide and upwards, with huge tracks to allow the constructs to carry raw materials and equipment to and from the city. The huge gold colored 'Dwarven Iron' supports had glowing blue runes running through them. They would have been truly a sight to behold, had they not contained hundreds of sweaty warriors, hundreds of dead and dying and a 200 foot long basilisk.

It was then that Lord Krain had entered the battle, with his contingent of Elite Guard. Krain's temper had been rising for the last 3 days of battle and the beast had just managed to destroy one of the 'ancient constructs': a massive automaton wielding a 10 foot runic axe that had been in the war vaults since before recorded history. The secrets to manufacturing the 'ancient constructs' had been long since lost to the winds of time.

The 'ancient constructs' had long been considered indestructible, mechanics had been trying to take them apart for thousands of years to study them and none had even come close. And this Basilisk had just melted one.

The 20 Elite Guard and Lord Krain sprinted past the Dwarves on the shield line without any fear, leaping over the bodies of fallen comrades and small war machines, screaming bloody murder. The Elite Guard all had large 'Dwarven Iron' axes covered in glowing blue runes held in one hand and a large similarly made rectangular shield, dressed in bulky armor that gave them the appearance of walking tanks. Lord Krain had a lighter looking armor, made instead entirely out of Mithril and a two handed war-hammer with a series of glowing blue runes that looked like they oozed with power.

The Basilisk slithered over the smoking, melted remains of the automaton and brought itself up to near full height, looking down on the approaching party. Without even batting an eyelid, it snapped its mouth open, faster than something of its size should be able to, and let loose a torrent of dark green acid.

The guards immediately snapped up their shields forming a protective wall around their lord. Had they been fighting a dragon, this tactic would have been incredibly effective as the dragonfire would have deflected off the shield wall and dissipated. Unfortunately however, the acid was deflected off the tight shield wall and pooled around the feet of the unfortunate guardsmen who, despite the excessive protections placed on their armor, began to dissolve at an alarming rate. The screams of pain filled the air as the front rank of guard fell.

However, before the rapidly expanding puddle of acid found the feet of Krain, the guards closest to their lord as a last act picked up the old warrior and, with their immense strength, enhanced further by their armor, threw Krain over the jet of acid towards the head of the mighty snake.

Krain, with a scream of pure hatred, brought his hammer down on the beasts head, right between the eyes. Just as the hammer impacted, Krain activated the largest of the runes covering his weapon and the hammer's head exploded, throwing Krain from the beast and causing the basilisk to rear back in surprise.

Shards from the magical weapon impacted one of the basilisks eyes, rending it partially blind. The basilisk writhed around in pain for a few seconds and the watching dwarves let out a huge cheer. This however, caused the basilisk to snap its head towards the dwarven lines. It then spotted Krain staggering to his feet a mere 50 meters away. With a basilisk's equivalent of a sneer, its huge tail snapped up and was brought down onto Krain with a strength that shook the cavern, and squashed the old warrior as one might squash an irritating fly.

Silence descended on the battlefield. The Dwarves looked on disbelievingly at the small bloodstain that was once a legendary figure. Lord Krain had held lordship over Stagnum for 400 years, since he was chosen amongst the ranks of the Elite Guard by the council. That is how Lords have always been chosen, but now there were no Elite Guard, and no Lord. Stagnum hold's hierarchy had just been destroyed.

Captain Kror, leader of the 2nd Company stared blankly at the battlefield, not comprehending the death of a lord. No Lords had died of anything other than old age for thousands of years, not since the Dwarves had fled from the surface world. Krain had been just and fair and had proved himself in battle many a time, fending of occasional goblin raids and had even managed to slay a dragon on his own, a rare feat for a race that lives underground. The dragon had been set loose in the mines by the goblins, who were hoping to be able to walk off with a large amount of gold. Krain had slain the dragon and the party of 20 goblins on his own, being at the mines for a routine inspection of his hold.

And now he was dead, squashed like a bug. A feeling of hopelessness settled on Kror's mind, befor being ruthlessly quashed. He was a dwarf, for heavens sake! He would fight this beast until death took him! He looked to the center mass of the dwarven lines, looking for orders, before remembering that Krain was dead. That thought would take some getting used to.

He looked next towards his company and saw a gut wrenching sight. His troops had the same look of hopelessness he had felt just seconds ago, he watched his company for a whole 5 minutes just searching their faces, looking for...there! The sergeant to his second squad, Yarak, a dwarf of about 20 had his face set in a mask of cold determination. It snapped him out of his musings and turned his attention back to the battlefield.

Most other companies hadn't had the same reprieve his had. The Basilisk had since charged the center mass of dwarves and was spitting acid and striking with magically enhanced speed, using its powerful jaws and venom to full effect.

Seeing this, he sent his company, all 50 dwarves wielding two handed axes in to reinforce the sea of warriors forming a line of shields in front of the basilisk. He was about to follow them when he noticed a single dwarf hadn't moved from his position, and was staring at something across the battlefield.

Kror approached the dwarf, who he now recognized as Yarak, and bellowed "I THOUGH I GAVE YOU AN ORDER SERGEANT! ARE YOU GOING DEAF?" The sergeant said nothing, and didn't even look at Kror, instead he brushed past his commander and headed out towards the battlefield, but not in the direction of the battle. Instead, he headed out over the sea of bodies and destroyed war machines.

Intrigued, Kror followed Yarak, who traveled out about 300 meters and knelt down to examine something. When Kror caught up, Yarak was on his feet once again, and was holding the still glowing and easily recognizable handle of Krain's famous hammer.

The two stood there amongst the dead for a while just staring at the handle of the hammer letting the battle rage behind them. "I've got an idea" said Yarak grimly, "and your not gonna like it Cap."

And Yarak explained his idea.

Kror just stood and stared at his sergeant the gears in his brain whirling. After a while he nodded, resigned to his fate.

The two stealthily made their way behind the basilisk, before stopping about 100 meters behind it. Without saying a word, Yarak handed Kror the handle of the hammer and the two nodded two each other before splitting up. Yarak made his way out to stand beside the huge bulk of the oversized snake. He took several deep breaths, then sprinted out to stand between the basilisk and the line of dwarves before throwing his huge axe at the beasts head.

As expected, the axe bounced off the thick scales and flew away, but it got the snakes attention. The snake reared back, surprised that one of the small pink hairy things had managed to get so close. The surprise lasted but a fraction of a second though before the beast lowered itself down and struck at the dwarf.

Yarak leapt back, only just avoiding being eaten whole, but the snake still managed to bite of his left arm at the elbow and throw the dwarf back into the shield wall. A quick thinking dwarf warrior quicky chopped off the rest of Yarak's arm to stop the venom from spreading and shoved the wounded dwarf back towards the sea of dwarves where he was passed along until he reached the medical tents, but by then he was thoroughly unconscious.

/

Kror waited patiently behind the basilisk, praying that the ruddy beast would do at Yarak had predicted. The seconds went by and Kror's worry became greater and greater. Suddenly, the beast reared back in surprise, and then lowered itself down. Kror immediately sprinted forwards, and up onto the beasts tail, he kept sprinting, praying that the beast would not raise itself up again before he could reach his target.

He was almost at the heard when he felt the beast begin to move below him. Cursing his rotten luck, he grasped the handle of Krain's hammer between his teeth and quickly latched onto the nearest scale. As the beast rose, Kror quickly grasped for an idea of how to quickly fix the plan.

Just as the beast's ascent started to slow, the idea hit him like a slap in the face. Before he could change his mind, he let go of the scale he was holding onto and was flung in the air by the beast's momentum.

The snake felt the weight shift on its back and quickly looked up in time to see the dwarf start to descend. It opened its maw ready to swallow the foolish thing.

Kror saw the beasts mouth open and quickly threw the handle of Krain's hammer. The young dwarf's aim was true, and the handle flew down the beasts throat.

Krain was well known as a master Runesmith. He created several complex runes that were gifted to dwarves as a whole, and others he only wrote down so that future Lords would be able to make use of them. The effects of a few of these runes were well known to the public, as Krain had warned them all of them to change the mind of any thieves looking to steal his weapons and armor. One in particular was extremely volatile.

If Lord Krain had died and the famous hammer was held by any but a dwarf for more than five seconds it would explode in a huge fireball. It was one of his most acclaimed accomplishments. Combining runes for blood connection (to Krain), race detection which was already and complex rune, and a rune for elemental discharge which was unheard of before Krain invented them, was a truly staggering feat.

The basilisk, after swallowing the shaft of the famous hammer, went rigid. After 5 almost comical seconds of complete silence and no movement in the cavern, a huge gout of white flame spewed from the basilisks mouth, eyes and ears and it knew no more.

Kror had landed in a heap on top of a squad of hammer bearing dwarves and hit his head against one of said hammers and darkness claimed him.

/

When the duo awoke, they were heroes of their hold. They had finally brought down the beast which was slaughtering dwarven warriors as if they were ants. Kror was quickly named Lord by the council, and Kror named Yarak as his chief adviser. And so sparked a friendship that would last the rest of their long lives. Kror followed in Krain's footsteps and studied Runesmithing in his free time, and Yarak took up metalworking as a hobby.

For the next 200 years Stagnum hold was mostly a peaceful place, nothing more than the occasional goblin raid brought any kind of violence. The duo were still hero worshiped and memories of the battle were shown in Dwarven schools.

**AN: That was fun, I really love dwarves as a race, ever since I saw the first few seconds of The Hobbit, An Unexpected Journey ive freaking loved how bad ass dwarves can be. They looked so good in their shiny armor, big bushy beards, huge axes, massive city, piles of gold etcetera. **

**Don't worry, Harry will show up promise.**

**Please comment, constructive criticism is appreciated. I'm still looking for a beta too...**


	2. The announcement of a lifetime

Disclaimer: Still don't own Harry Potter:(

Chapter 2: The announcement of a lifetime

Yarak was not looking forward to the meeting head of him. Himself and Kror would meet with the other 3 Dwarven Lords and their advisers and the council, who kept watch over pretty much everything on the planet including the surface dwellers both magical and muggle, the goblins, the descendants of the outcast dwarves that were kicked out of the holds when the dwarves fled the surface world thousands of years ago, and anomalies in the planets ambient magic.

They would spend 3 days reviewing the fact that nothing has happened in the last 5 years, then they would finally get to go home. He missed his beloved forge already. His wife too, sure, but the forge felt like a part of himself. He hated being apart from it. He wondered if the wife had thrown away his newest piece yet...

Yarak was thrown out of his musings as the heavy 'Dwarven Iron' doors to the meeting chambers creaked open. The chamber was rather luxurious for a dwarven room, it had a dark red carpet, silver walls, and a large square table cast of 'Dwarven Iron', and shaped by master smiths. It had a single thick leg in the center of the table which was decorated with heavily bearded, thick set faces with angry expressions decorating it. Around the table were four large throne reminiscent chairs made, again, 'Dwarven Iron', each with a smaller, less grand stone chair next to it. Dwarves made nearly everything out of that outdated metal...

The only other remarkable feature was the small door at the other end of the chamber which the council members came out of when they come and report to the Lords in turn. The council never all came out at once, instead each member would discuss the specific thing that they would watch over and then leave. There were 30 council members in all, and no one knew what they all did except for the members themselves.

Yarak winced as he caught sight of the stone chair. He had forgotten, as he did every time, to take a blasted cushion with him. 3 straight days of discussing nothing had a rather unpleasant effect on one's bottom, even a thickly muscled dwarven bottom.

He sighed, resigned to his fate and took his seat next to Kror and started to stroke his huge bushy red beard and thought about how his friend had changed over the years while the others came in and took their seats. Kror now had a proper dwarven figure, that is he had a large mane of black curls extruding from his face, his hair tied back in a regal looking pony tail, and most importantly, he had a belly. Yarak remembered how he looked when they were still in the army: no fat, no beard, just a clean shaven baby-face and a torso of pure muscle. Not very dwarf-like at all. Mind you, he probably looked the same he mused. After all they were only in their 20's.

Now they were just passed the prime of their lives, Kror going on for 226 while Yarak was 224. They both looked older though, the strain of running a hold, no matter how peaceful, could be clearly seen. The other lords and advisers had similar stress marks though, graying hair and wrinkles before their time though. Except for Skald that is: lord of the hold on the central continent, Kandurm. He actually looked his age, his age being 450-ish. One could only wonder when he's gonna do the decent thing and snuff it. He talked to slowly...

His musings were interrupted once again as the council entered the chamber. The entire council.

His bushy red eyebrows shot up in surprise. He had never even seen every council member! What could possibly have happened to gather them all here? He hoped they weren't in any danger, he really didn't fancy becoming an adviser in a time of war. He'd probably just grab an axe and run away to join the front lines. Being a pen-pushing desk junky while good young dwarves were dying was his worst nightmare.

His fears were quickly set at ease when he took in the expressions the council wore on their faces. Some were grinning madly, some looked amused, and one or two looked murderous. And all of them looked as if they'd only put on their light blue robes in the last 30 seconds, which was not at all normal for the few council members he'd seen, they usually looked immaculate. Now it looked as if they'd been partying the last few days. Very mysterious.

One of the council members he had never seen before stepped forward. He looked truly ancient, older even than Skald if such a thing is possible. He looked very regal and 'proper' by high societies standards. The council member, who before looked very serious, had suddenly allowed a large grin to spread across his face. Yarak found it highly amusing.

He looked ecstatic, brimming with joy. "An Elemental has been born."

Every mouth not belonging to a council member was now hanging open, including Yarak's. No Elementals had been born since the dwarves started to record history 5000 odd years ago! The elemental dwarves had been a magical anomalies, how they came about is unknown. In fact very little is known about them at all. The last known elemental's are little more than story's told to little children at night, a myth, a fairy tale.

They were supposed to be dwarves who could control an element and only 2 were ever known. One known as Kazak Durm, who was a water elemental who turned into a mass murderer , single-handedly wiped out 6 of the 10 ancient dwarf holds, each hold back then only holding about 50,000 dwarves, but still. He killed roughly 300,000 dwarves on his own before he was taken down by the combined forces of the remaining dwarf holds and some human wizards who had also taken casualties from the mass murderer.

The other supposedly used his fire element to tame dragons and create new forges capable of heating Mithril enough to shape it, an art not seen for thousands of years. Few Mithril relics remain, one being a suit of armor for each of the lords, which are treasured even today.

Yarak allowed a huge grin to spread on his face as well. If they had found an elemental before it could be influenced, they could stop it turning dark and have a power that will greatly boost the growth of the Dwarves as a race! This could mean a new golden age for the dwarven economy, a brighter future.

The next few words wiped the grin off his face.

"An elemental has been born..." repeated the ancient looking dwarf, "...on the surface world, to the humans."

The room fell into silence.


	3. The Boy

Disclaimer: Still don't own Harry Potter:(

Chapter 3: The Boy

The child known only as 'Boy' sat in his cupboard in a corner, trying to stop blood from getting on his ratty mattress. His white shirt, the only vaguely nice clothing he had hung loosely from his shoulders, the back shredded and now covered in his blood. He doubted he'd ever get anything nice to wear again, even if they were cast offs from his cousin.

He was crying softly, his back like his shirt was scarred and torn, the latest marks of his punishment left him in burning agony.

/

3 days earlier...

Boy ventured outside under orders from his aunt, his small 4 year old body staggering under the weight of the rubbish bags he carried out to the front of the drive, the relatively short journey feeling like a miles long trek to his short legs. The wind was biting cold, viciously blowing around him with a force he had never before experienced in his short life, blowing thick snowflakes into his bare arms, robbing him of any warmth.

Boy could barely see a meter in front of him. His teeth were chattering and he could practically feel his bones freeze inside his body. The wind suddenly picked up, catching the heavy rubbish bags that he was clinging to and sending them, and him, sprawling in the December snow and ice coating the hard ground.

He picked himself up before the snow could melt and soak through his baggy gray t-shirt, and looked around for the rubbish bags he'd dropped.

'Boy' let our a groan of despair. The bag had split, spilling the foul contents of the rubbish bins all over the area where the lawn would be, had it not been hidden from view by the carpet of snow. He quickly shuffled towards the rubbish and attempted to replace the bits he could find back into the split bag, but it was a difficult task.

The smaller bits, especially the slimy pieces of manky rotting food waste were being quickly covered in snow. Added to that his vision was truly poor (not that he knew any different, having been born with bad eyesight) and he could barely see past his nose for the snow storm, he finally lost sight of the many remaining scraps, them being buried under a blanket of snow.

Tears formed in his eyes as he found his last reserves of strength on his skinny frame begin to fail. He quickly gathered the salvaged rubbish and dragged it the last few meters to the front of the drive. Once his task was completed, ran as best he could in his frozen, malnourished, bruised state back towards the house.

/

The next day was Christmas, a day that 'Boy' was, unlike most children his age, completely indifferent towards. On the one hand, the decorations, color, songs and festive smells were enough to capture the attention of any child. On the other hand, he had to listen to Dudley opening mountains of presents from his cupboard where he sat, wallowing in self pity until some roast potatoes were left at the foot of his door at the end of the day. He was not allowed to come out.

This Christmas, however, something unprecedented happened. He was to be allowed out in public.

He was woken up by his Aunt banging loudly on his door. "Get dressed!" she screeched "We'll see if going to church will get some of the freakishness out of you! Wear your smart things!"

Boy leapt out of bed, a huge grin on his face. He got dressed in his nice shirt (still at least 2 sizes too big for him) and ratty gray trousers, and went t leave the safety of his cupboard. He paused at the door, wiped the grin off his face as he knew it would only antagonize the Dursleys, and walked calmly out of his cupboard.

As the Dursleys and 'Boy' left the house, they were treated to the sight of a clear blue sky and rays of golden sunshine reflecting off the melting snow and ice. It was beautiful, almost warm even, and a drastic contrast to the snowstorm of yesterday.

The drive to church was in silence, the Dursleys obviously uncomfortable with having 'Boy' with them, and boy not even noticing the silence instead staring out the window in awe at the colorful decorated houses and streets.

After they had arrived at the church, the Dursley's and 'Boy' managed to sit through the service without issue: no "freakish accidents," as his Uncle Vernon called them. 'Boy' didn't know what his Uncle was talking about whenever he went on about the "Freakish Accidents," as he didn't think he had ever had one, he certainly hadn't been punished for any yet.

The way his Uncle talked about them, he could only imaging the kind of punishment a "Freakish Accidents," would mean for him. He shivered.

After the service, the elder Dursley's went outside and told Dudley and 'Boy' to go and entertain themselves for while, as they mingled with the neighbors.

Dudley's face was suddenly host to a very feral grin for a four year old, as he grabbed the collar of 'Boy's' shirt with a meaty fist and dragged him out towards the back of the church, where there was a small cemetery and no adults watching over them.

'Boy' didn't even try to fight, as last time he had done so Aunt Petunia had screeched "Vernon! Vernon, that FREAK! Has hurt our Duddykins!" Uncle Vernon had then gone on to give 'Boy' his first ever beating, using only his fists as he pummeled him into unconsciousness. 'Boy' had awoken the next day with a black eye, a broken nose, a concussion, 3 cracked ribs and a broken left femur. He had not received and medical treatment for his injuries (Not that he knew that he _should _receive medical treatment, not knowing any better). This had been the best part of 3 months ago and there hadn't been another incident since, though his ribs were still quite sore and he still had a limp.

When the two boys were out of sight, Dudley through his cousin to the floor and started kicking him. As 'Boy' curled up into a ball, he felt the emotions raging around inside him. _Why did Dudley hurt him? He had never done anything to __his him, had he?_Boy felt shame at being so weak, anger and jealousy directed at Dudley, anger at his family for making him do all the work and then treat him so much worse than his cousin.

Boy blocked out the pain, as he was so accustomed to doing by now, and thought about his situation. Usually when trying to decipher the root behind the Dursley's hatred of him, he asked the questions over and over again in his mind, but never truly looking for an answer, scared at what might lay on the end of this line of thought_. _

This time however, lying in the dirt, 'Boy' felt something he had never felt before: a foreign strength flowed through him, some external power source, reassuring him, giving him confidence.

He finally found the courage to follow the line of thought, to truly answer his own questions without fear._ Why don't they love me? Why do they hurt me? What __would__ make them so hateful?_

'Boy' racked his brain, looking for the answer, but could think of nothing. That's when its hit him: _There __**isn't**__ an answer. There's no reason..._

With this realization, came another new emotion. 'Boy' had always assumed he had deserved the punishment the Dursley's gave him, after all they always told him so. He had never thought otherwise.

But now? 'Boy' realized he didn't deserve the punishment, the hate, the pain.

'Boy' felt pure, undiluted rage flow through his veins. It consumed him, and his vision turned red.

He clenched his muscles, ready to spring to his feet and attack Dudley, but before he could, he felt a sudden tug, and he was dragged downwards, into the dirt.

His raged, angry at being stopped from attacking Dudley. _AAARRR! Take me back! I'm going to make them pay!_

As if responding to his command, the earth violently spat him back out.

And straight into Vernon Dursley.

'Boy' ploughed into Vernon at some speed, knocking them both to the ground. 'Boy' got on top of his uncle and punched him in the face over and over again.

Unfortunately, there's only so much damage a 4 year old can do to a grown man. That being, not a lot.

Vernon quickly got over his surprise and grabbed boy by the scruff of the neck and began to drag him back towards the car, his face rapidly turning a dark purple and muscles tense with rage.

'Boy' Kicked and screamed, but luckily for Vernon most people had long since gone home to enjoy their Christmas and there was only a few people still around. When Vernon had reached their car, no one was about, just an empty car park. He violently opened the car door, and smashed boy's head against the oncoming Aluminium slab and he knew no more.

/

The next day, 'Boy' awoke with a major concussion and a new scar where the skin of his face had split around the impact, running all down his left cheek. He forced his heavy eyelids open and found himself leaning face first against the banisters where he presumed he had spent the night, as his cramping legs was evidence to. He tried to move and found his hands firmly duck taped to the banisters over his head.

He groggily got to his feet and almost slipped when he found the carpet coated in newspapers as if to prevent it from getting dirty. Why is that? Are they getting the hall painted? He looked up to further examine his surroundings, but caught sight of Petunia looking at him from the kitchen with a smug smile on her face. "Vernon, the Freak's awake," she said in her shrill voice.

'Boy' heard Vernon grunt from towards the kitchen, and moments later he came through with a bucket of icy water, which he then dumped over the boy's head, removing his grogginess and replacing it with a thundering headache.

"Why did you do that Vernon? You've soaked the carpet!" asked Petunia, who was watching from the kitchen doorway. She sounded annoyed.

"I want the brat to actually feel his punishment, not be only half conscious through it." said Vernon, his face already turning red.

Boy heard the sounds of a belt being removed behind him and managed to put two and two together despite his head injury.

Boy started to silently weep, tear tracks making their way down his blood stained face, but making no sound. Resigned to his fate.

Without warning, the first lash struck his back, tearing his shirt and ripping flesh. A second. A third. By the fourth lash, even 'Boy's' talent for blocking our pain failed him and he cried out, further aggravating his pounding headache. After 10 lashes, Vernon went back into the kitchen, but came back seconds later with a large container of vinegar he'd bought just for this reason.

He poured the liquid over the wounds, already deep enough to leave permanent scars. Boy screamed in agony and sank to his knees, hanging limply from his hands still duck taped to the banister. He was dimly aware that Vernon had started hitting him with his belt again, but darkness was starting to line his vision...

_/_

The child known only as 'Boy' sat in his cupboard in a corner, trying to stop blood from getting on his ratty mattress. His white shirt, the only vaguely nice clothing he had hung loosely from his shoulders, the back shredded and now covered in his blood. He doubted he'd ever get anything nice to wear again, even if they were cast offs from his cousin.

He was crying softly, his back like his shirt was scarred and torn, the latest marks of his punishment left him in burning agony.

He had awoken only minutes earlier, sprawled on the floor half in and half out of his cupboard. There was still newspaper under him, a small circle of blood pooled around him sticking the paper to his chest, and a few cotton wool balls had been haphazardly thrown on his back.

He had crawled into his cupboard slowly, the house quiet around him only a faint humming in the background. It was quite a reassuring noise actually, and it sounded quite close. Boy opened his eyes to take a look around him.

Boy gasped as the pain hit, the noise quickly forgotten. He could barely open his eyes, and when he did, the pain was all encompassing. He quickly shut his eyes again, and the pain started to slowly ebb away. It was still there a few minutes later, a dull ache in the background. He felt his way into the corner and started sobbing. There was definitely something wrong with his eyes, they didn't feel quite right. It didn't take long for the nightmares to take him.

Unbeknownst to Boy, he wasn't quite alone.

**AN: Holy shite, that was depressing to write. I've always felt Harry should suffer early on, but heck, that was hard.**

**R****eview!**


	4. Reconnecting

Disclaimer: Still don't own Harry Potter :(

Chapter 4: Reconnecting

Yarak sat with Kror and 3 members of Kror's Elite Guard in the hold of the drill construct and contemplated his situation. After hours of debating it was decided that, since the elemental resided closest to Stagnum Hold, he would fall under Kror's jurisdiction. Kror, however is far too busy as a Lord to think about raising a child, so Yarak was given the responsibility of raising him into an honorable warrior.

All of this, of course depending on the boy's current situation. If he didn't want to go, then there was little 5 dwarves could do to persuade him. As a race, they weren't generally subtle, patient or well spoken. Why would you need to be when you can just hit whatever bothering you on the head with a war hammer and be done with it?

Yarak felt the change in the movement of the vessel. The rock they were previously drilling through had been left behind, so the construct didn't vibrate so violently. They were near the surface world.

Then motion stopped altogether. The party of five, wanting to make a good impression with the people of the surface world, had come fully resplendent in battle dress. Kror in his Mithril armor, Yarak in the bronze colored adviser's armor, and the three Elite Guard in their classic tank-like armor armor. Kror loosely held his massive battle axe in one hand, Yarak had one of his many long-swords strapped to his back, and the 3 Elite Guard were armed with their bulky rectangular shields and broadsword combination. Yarak also held a large white flag, to stop the locals from panicking and attacking.

The council had advised them on what the humans reaction could be like. These humans were very different from the humans the Dwarven Kingdoms had separated themselves from thousands of years ago. At least in this country. The had been told to expect a guarded, but curious greeting from the humans, but to give them time to prepare it. So, after arriving at the surface, the dwarves in the drill construct settled down to wait for an hour.

/

Had the drill arrived anywhere with less witnesses, the government of the United Kingdom would likely of covered the whole thing up. However, a twenty foot drill sticking out of the ground in Trafalgar square in central London is quite a challenge to keep quiet. So instead, they decided to set up a firing line around the drill, but allow news helicopters to capture the scene.

So about an hour later, there were 100 British servicemen and a low wall of sandbags surrounding the drill with several tanks on standby, just out of sight. There were also news crews and helicopters from the BBC, ITV, SKY, ABC and many other news crews from around the world capturing the event live.

So when the British Ministry of magic detected the use of magic in the middle of Trafalgar square, and finally got around to sending in the obliviators, they took one look at the scene and apparated quickly back to give their report.

/

When the lights in the drill construct finally turned from red to green, Kror got to his feet and pressed the palm of his gauntlet covered hand to a rune on the wall and, with a hiss, a small door opened, letting in the first rays of sunlight a (true) dwarf had seen in thousands of years. (**AN: the dwarves of the underground kingdoms don't count the surface dwelling dwarves as real dwarves, as they were cast out from society and abandoned.) **

/

Around the world people watched the large gold colored drill construct, still covered in dirt and fragments of rock from its journey, with bated breath. Many were wondering what the drill contained. Aliens? An undiscovered enclave of ground dwelling humans? A secret government project that got lost and somehow ended up drilling through Trafalgar Square? Speculation was rife.

So when a small door opened on the side of the large machine, the world stood still. Watching. Waiting.

/

Yarak, as adviser to Lord Kror and the bearer of the flag of truce was to be the first to leave the drill. So, he picked up the large flag with his mechanical left arm, put on his bronze colored helmet, made sure his massive red beard was immaculate, and stepped into the doorway.

He caught sight of the line of soldiers, with weapons trained on him, but didn't allow this to faze him. He dropped the 6 or so feet to the ground, cracking the pavement as he did so, and unfurled his large flag. He walked about halfway between the drill and the line of soldiers, and using both hands, drove the flagpole into the concrete. He then stood and waited.

After five minutes or so, he called out "'ELLO? CANNAE PLEASE SPEAK TO 'WHOEVER'S IN CHARGE?"

/

Even after all the speculation over what could come out of the drill, nobody had quite expected a burly dwarf, fully clad in thick bronze colored armor with a few glowing light blue runes, with a huge bushy red beard.

When said dwarf called out in a very thick Scottish accent to talk to "whoever in charge" as he put it, it snapped everyone out of their funk.

In short order, a man in a suit had climbed over the small wall of sandbags and approached the dwarf. When he was about 2 meters away from the dwarf, he spoke in a clear and concise voice, "Greetings. I am the representative of the Prime Minister of Great Britain. With whom am I speaking?

"'Ullo lad. I am Yarrak, adviser to me lord Kror. The Dwarven Kingdoms send their compliments to the humans, both magical and otherwise, and request that you allow two dwarves to move through your territory, while me lord Kror discusses with you the possible positive and negative effects of the reintroduction of the Dwarven Kingdoms to the surface world since our self initiated isolation 5000 years previous."

After several minutes of silence the man in the suit finally said "what would you be doing in our country?"

Yarak, having expected this question, wasted no time in replying, "We are searching for a human child born with extraordinary gifts. We would talk to his or her guardians in terms of training said ability, and possibly moving the family into Stagnum hold until the child is trained to not be dangerous to the world around him. Or her."

"What gift does the child posses?" asked the man in the suit.

"I am not permitted to tell ye." said Yarak quickly. "However, the family should already have noticed the child's ability and be worried about it. I am permitted to tell several high ranking government official's, but no-one else."

The man in the suit nodded thoughtfully and turned away and listened into his earpiece for several minutes. Eventually, the man said "You are permitted to travel through our country, if you only do as you said you would. As for the discussion with Lord Kror, how soon can he get here? We have much to talk about."

As he finished speaking Lord Kror and the three Elite Guard dropped out of the drill construct, cracking the abused concrete even more. They were a magnificent sight, armor glinting in the sunlight, beards swaying in the wind.

"Me Lord Kror is here, when can we move?"

"A police escort is ready for you. Do you know where you are going? How are you traveling?"

"We thank you for the escort. We have had a small drone with the child since last night, we are going to simply follow its signal. And we will be jogging there." With that Yarak gestured at one of the Elite Guard to join him and got a small metal slate out of his pocket. After looking at it for a bit, the two set off, vaulting over the sandbags with their runic armor advanced strength and jogging out into central London. They were soon joined by several police cars, two motorcycles and a helicopter. There were also several News Helicopters flying about, following the two dwarf party.

The two jogged for hours following the directions of Yarak's metal slate. They passed street after street full of people, some cheering, some holding banners, some shouting questions. Most banners said things like "Welcome, Dwarven friends," or "I (love-heart) Dwarves," or "Beards 4 Life." There were a few that believed they demons or evil beings and screamed abuse at them, but there was no violence. Not while Yarrak had his massive long-sword and the Guard had his intimidating shield and broadsword.

After about 6 hours of non stop jogging, the two dwarves not having broken a sweat, arrived at Little Whinging, Surrey. They had a large number of people following them and the police escort and many people had turned out onto the pavements to watch the dwarves come through. The two dwarves reached number 4, the only house on the street where no one had turned out to watch the spectacle. In fact, the curtains were shut, the lights out and the door locked.

Yarrak approached the door and knocked. After a few minutes the knock went unanswered. Yarak knocked again and examined his tablet. After no reply was given to his second knock he approached one of the police officers that had formed a perimeter around the front of the house and asked if they could check who lived here. The officer walked to his car where his radio was and asked up the chain of command. When the police officer returned to Yarak, he said, "this is the residence of Vernon, Petunia and Dudley Dursley. I've been told you are allowed to force the door open to look for them, we will pay for damages. The conversations we have had with the neighbors indicate that there may or may not be a fourth young resident, but we haven't one on record. There have been reports of shouting and screeching coming from that house so the residents may have violent tempers. My boss, the chief commissioner advises caution and tact."

Yarak grunted a 'thanks' at the policeman and turned back towards the door, which he then proceeded to use his mechanical arm to punch a whole through the door handle.

/

Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot and Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards was having a rather satisfying day. He had spent yet more of the Potter fortune on acquiring an ancient, and rather expensive, wizarding artifact: the goblet of fire. He planned on using this artifact to manipulate Harry Potter at some point during his stay at Hogwarts, after he had fiddled with it a bit of course.

He had then returned to one of the Potter Villa's on the Spanish coast, where he was spending the Christmas Holidays. He had recently finalized the marriage contract between young Ginevra Weasley ans Harry Potter to ensure the Weasley's inherit the Potter fortune and Titles after Harry kicks the bucket. All of his plans were starting to fall into place.

He was alarmed, then to receive a floo-call from Mrs Fig: his spy who made sure the Potter brat was kept weak and pliable, easily manipulated. Ironically enough he paid her, quite handsomely too, using the potter fortune. The thought made him chuckle.

She told him that two Dwarves in some kind of strange armor and several thousand muggles had turned up at Number 4 and were breaking into the house.

Quick as a flash, he wandlessly summoned the Eldar Wand, transfigured his Bermuda pattern swimming trunks to a resplendent set of dark purple robes covered in stars and crescent moods and apparated to the lawn of Privet Drive.

/

**AN: Cliffhanger! DunDunDuuuuuuun! Sorry its been a while, been very busy with 4 A levels, grandparents funerals, Christmas concerts (I play in a brass band) and busking for charity. Yeah. Hopefully, gonna get back onto doing a chapter a week. Mabe even more frequently during the holidays.**


	5. Rescued

Disclaimer: Still don't own Harry Potter :(

Chapter 5: Rescued

With a loud crack, Albus Dumbledore appeared on the lawn of Number 4 Privet Drive, facing the house to see a dwarf in full battle armor punching a hole through the door. Without hesitation, he quickly whipped up his wand and cast a blasting hex at the dwarves back.

/

Yarak was just pulling the ruined door open when he heard the loud crack. Centuries of combat and training saved his life as he quickly jumped sideways into a bush, letting the unseen hex miss him completely.

/

_Several hours previously_

Vernon Dursley had been watching the news reports all day like the rest of the world. Unlike so many others though, he disliked the idea of those freaky beings running rampant throughout the country. They weren't normal! They were disgusting freaks of nature! They would disrupt his life. He could hear it now, all his colleagues would talk of nothing but those weirdo's for weeks. It was going to get really irritating.

He thought about the other freak in his life. He had been payed well for keeping the brat underfed and frequently beaten, a hundred thousand pounds in total for ten years of malnutrition, deep and permanent scars and lack of even basic knowledge of reading and writing.

It was him that made the decision to blind the brat with a bit of bleach. While he _was_ being paid to abuse the little shit, it wasn't really needed. Vernon Dursley, with the help of a few (mild at most) compulsion charms, genuinely hated the boy. He was freaky, he disrupted his life, his freakishness endangered his family, and if the authorities ever found out how they were treating the boy, they'd all be arrested. They wouldn't believe he was a freak, they wouldn't believe them when he would tell them he was sub-human.

It was amongst these musings that Vernon considered that the brat might be the child they were after. It made sense. After all, they were all freaky, they might all be in league with each other. Vernon then considered what that might mean for his family. The short freaks might kill them all for abusing the boy. And they weren't far away now!

In a panic now, Vernon herded his family into his and Petunia's bedroom. He then closed all the curtains, locked all the doors, turned out the lights, disconnected the phones and went looking for a suitable weapon to defend his family with. He found a cricket bat...no. A bicycle chain...nope. Ah yes, his golf clubs, perfect.

He then stood in front of his front door and waited for the freaks. Then a thought occurred to him.

Slowly he turned towards the cupboard under the stairs. He then rushed away to find his toolkit and some planks of wood.

/

Boy awoke to sounds of drilling. He opened his eyes to try to figure out what was going on, but shut them again immediately. The _pain._ It was far worse than the broken left femur, far worse than his shredded back. His eyesight was ruined, he could tell that just by the feeling. He lifted his hand to examine the area around his eyes. He felt the skin around them covered in chemical burns and blistering rapidly. Had he been able to see, and had a light source and a mirror, he would have been able to see his eyes, once bright and green, were now surrounded by ruined flesh and colored milky white.

He felt the despair mounting inside of him. He would never look at anything again. And to make matters worse, Uncle Vernon was now sealing him in his tomb. He would either suffocate or, if there was any gaps, starve to death. Had Boy had tear ducts he would have started crying. As it was, he could only make sobbing noises, full of despair and pain.

/

A mere twenty minutes after Vernon had finished boarding up the boy's cupboard, there was a knock at the door. Vernon lifted his golf club, ready to defend his family. There was a second knock. A wait. The seconds ticked by. Vernon shifted nervously. Still waiting. The sound of splintering wood. He looked downwards, where there used to be a door handle there was now an armored fist. He gripped his golf club tighter. The door was ripped open! With a loud battle cry Vernon brought down his golf club down to destroy the intruder.

/

The Elite Guard, a couple of thousand humans, several camera crews and the members of the Surrey Police Force present at the scene witnessed Dumbledore's disillusionment charm fail as he cast the offensive blasting hex at Yarak. Luckily, Yarak dived out of they way just in time, and his Elite Guard immediately moved to stand in front of the bush he had landed in, shield raised.

The Surrey Police Force switched their attention away from the gathered crowd and towards the old wizard as he threw a second curse at the Guard with the shield, which was then deflected downwards onto Number 4's lawn. The resulting explosion knocked the dwarven guard into the house's front wall, thew earth into the air and caused a slight tremor, knocking off the aim of the twelve police officers that had just fired their pistols at the old wizard.

Only one of the bullet's hit the old wizard, and it managed to land on his left buttock, where it lodged itself. With a cry of pain, Dumbledore apparated away.

In the confusion, no one initially saw the first blasting curse hit Vernon Dursley.

/

After he got to his feet, Yarak took in the scene around him. The old wizard had somehow teleported away, his Guard was groaning, but getting to his feet also. Hopefully he was alright. The crowd was starting to settle down after the official panic. The police officers looked shaken, but were all still on their feet. They'd be OK. He couldn't spot any of the crowd on the ground. Luckily they were far enough away from the explosion to avoid any shrapnel other than mud. It looked as if no one but the wizard had been hurt.

Then Yarak spotted the blood splattered on the front step. Dread was building in his stomach as he approached the doorway. If the Elemental child had been his by that spell, he would have been liquified, no two ways about it.

Yarak entered the house, where he saw the remains of an obese middle aged man lying on his back halfway down the hall. The man now had a large cavity in his chest. Most of his vital organs such as his heart and lungs were nothing more than pulp. Blood formed in a pool around his body.

Yarak sighed, this would now be a much harder mission. It would be more difficult to convince the child's family to return with him to Stagnum with the child's father lying here dead. He pulled out his slate to get a reading on the drone, it should have stuck very close to the child, as in either literally attached to him or attached to an item of clothing.

Yarak frowned, the slate said the child was less than a meter to his right. It was then he spotted the portion of wall that had been boarded up. He turned to examine the what he had previously assumed was shoddy repair work.

/

Boy heard the sounds of the fight and Vernon's corpse hit the ground next to his cupboard, just as he started to run out of air.

It had gotten harder and harder to breathe since he was boarded in twenty minutes ago. The fact that he had lasted this long was only due to the size of his lungs. He was now feeling light headed. He had been quite ready to die, only seconds before, but now someone had attacked the house. Maybe someone had come to rescue him. Maybe it was his real parents! Vernon and Petunia had said they were no good drunken layabouts, and dead, but Boy knew they hated him. They could have been lying.

And now he was going to die, just as they had come for him.

With energy he didn't know he had, Boy crawled over to the grate on his cupboard and clawed at the bars, mouth pressed against them gasping for air.

He was getting dizzy, he wasn't going to make it.

He felt the darkness closing in.

Just as boy slumped forwards into unconsciousness, the first of the planks was ripped away.

/

The first thing Yarak noticed as he ripped away the first wooden plank was the smell. The smell of blood, sweat, shit and vinegar. The pit of despair formed in his stomach once again. He frantically ripped away the rest of the boards, praying that the child wasn't dead. At this point the most senior of the police officers was standing in the doorway of the house, watching the scene.

When Yarak Pulled open the door to the cupboard, the small, smelly, malnourished, bloody, raven haired boy fell out of the cupboard, still gasping for air even in unconsciousness fell forwards into Yarak's arms.

For a good twenty minutes the burly dwarven warrior just held the boy and let silent tears fall down his cheeks. The boy had been so close to death, just seconds more and it would've been too late.

For now though, the boy was stable enough to move. After wrapping the boy in a curtain ripped from the living room, Yarak and his guard graciously accepted the ride the police officer offered in his car. After then discovering what they weight of two fully armored, bury dwarven warriors will do to the back of a Ford Grenada, they then graciously accepted the offered ride in one of the armored SCO19 (British SWAT) vans that was called to the scene after the explosions.

/

Kror for the first time as a Lord, was genuinely enjoying politics. The reintroduction of two races for the first time in several thousand years was a momentous occasion. He and the Prime Minister for Great Britain, a Margaret Thatcher, had been in a conference for a great number of hours now. Kror really liked this human. She may be a politician, but she had the attitude of a ruthless warrior. Was this attitude was conducive to running a country? Probably not. But she took no nonsense from anybody and Kror could respect that.

They had questioned each other about their cultures, military's, technologies, current wars, the different biology's of the two different races. Kror had told her of the warrior culture dwarves are raised in. Of the advancements in runic armor and weaponry. Of the constant war with the goblins and various ground dwelling beasts and pests.

The biology of the two races was remarkably similar. No difference in number of bones or organs. In fact at birth, one would struggle to tell the difference between a human and a dwarf. However, as magical beings a Dwarf's lifespan doubles. And because of the diet of a dwarf, it then increases again.

When the dwarves first dug themselves their kingdoms, they discovered a beast they named rockworm. They are about ten feet long and have hide similar to that of a troll, that being very tough, very thick and magically resistant. Their flesh, however, was almost pure protein and contained several hormones that encouraged growth around well used muscles. Thus if a child were to eat this meat from about the age of five when his 'baby bones' had merged to an acceptable level, their internal organs would be much stronger and thicker. Their muscle growth would also increase significantly. Thus increasing a dwarf's lifespan to roughly 500 years of age.

This had lead onto the topic of the Magical world. Kror know only what the Council reported from having drones spy on a few government meetings. He had told her how most magical humans seemed no different than regular humans in appearance or personality. However, those currently in power were, for want of a better term, racists.

If you weren't a white, male pureblood then you basically had no power and no say in how your life was run. If you were a female pureblood, you were likely to be married off to some old man for money or power. If you were a half blood or a pureblood foreigner then you could never reach a high ranking position in any job. If you were a muggleborn or foreign halfblood then you were less than human. If you were a muggle, you might as well be a slightly amusing circus monkey in fez. Such is Magical government.

This (of course private) discussion had helped the Prime Minister understand a great deal more about the Magical World. She had been visited by the minister for Magic at the start of her term of service, who then preceded to tell her of the magical worlds existence then leave as quickly as possible as if she had some sort of contagious disease.

The situation with the magical world was a delicate one. She could probably still keep the magical world secret even with the dwarves coming forward. She could convince them to keep quiet about the magical world around the camera's. She had considered briefly sharing the magical world's existence with the rest of the world, but then decided against it. The pure blood's would probably either declare war or start massacring muggleborn's and their families. It didn't bear thinking about. No, revealing the existence of magic would do more harm than good.

She decided on a plan of action: she would keep all worlds separate for now. Convince the dwarves to set up an embassy on the surface and receive one in Stagnum hold, but otherwise keep their worlds separate. Keep the magical world secret. People would be very curious about the dwarves for a couple of years, but soon all their questions would be answered and it'd die down. She would allow the Dwarves to give interviews on the telly and the radio, and the people's curiosity would be sated. Yes, that would work.

/

Soon after getting Kror to agree to this plan after outlining the reasoning behind it, Yarak, his guard and a boy wrapped in a curtain arrived at Trafalgar Square in an armored van. Yarak was in a great deal of distress. He wasn't even this upset after losing his left arm to the basilisk two centuries previous. Kror and the Prime Minister soon saw the reason behind it after they had exited the gazebo that had been set up for their conference. The boy looked like death. He had obviously been suffering from long-term violent abuse. Kror, seeing the need for a healer, and quickly, ushered the party back into the drill.

"Apologies, Prime Minister but it seems we are forced to cut our discussion short. We will send a second drill up within the coming weeks to set up and receive an embassy. We will also try to avoid destroying any monuments or buildings. Perhaps sending the drill to the countryside would be better. Good day." And with that, the dwarven delegation left the surface world once more, disappearing into the depths of the earth.

**AN: Busy chapter. Lots happening. Hope I haven't overdone it. At the moment I'm torn between dedicating a chapter to Harry's upbringing with the Dwarves or skipping on a bit. I'll sleep on it.**

**As always, please review!**


	6. Recovery

Disclaimer: Still don't own Harry Potter :(

Chapter 6: Recovery

Yarak looked down at the bundle in his arms. The boy was in a bad way. His back, quite frankly, stank. His condition was disgusting. His face was a mess too: he had a fresh looking scar running down his left cheek surrounded by heavy bruising, his hair was unwashed and matted with blood, and then there was his eyes. One look at them told Yarak that no amount of magic would fix them, whatever chemical had been poured into them would've eaten away at the nerve endings.

Yarak felt the drill's motion change, they had broken back through into Stagnum Hold. Now he needed to summon a healer. Or ten.

/

The child known only as 'Boy' awoke to a plethora or unfamiliar sensations. He felt as if he was suspended in mid air. He resisted the urge to open his eyes, now recognizing that to do so would not only be excruciating, but fruitless. He shifted around a bit, to try and figure out exactly what he was lying in, only to recognize the feeling of a mattress, a duvet and a pillow, but not like he was allowed to sleep in. If he was caught lying in a bed like this, his Uncle would beat him like there was no tomorrow!

Panicking now, boy made to sit up in bed, only to find a massive hand pushing him gently back down.

"Rest now, lad," said a heavily accented voice. "You're not with those people any more, your safe. Sleep now, you're not recovered enough yet to move about too much."

Comforted now, 'Boy' allowed himself to be pushed back onto the bed.

As soon as his head hit the fluffy, comfortable pillow, he drifted off once again to sleep.

/

When Boy awoke once more, he could hear the sounds of a bustling city. He heard the sounds of a busy market, of a blacksmith's anvil ringing in the distance, of hundreds of feet moving around, of children playing, of machines moving. Something was missing though, something he couldn't quite put his finger on. Birds! There were no birds that 'Boy' could hear. Oh well, no great loss. Boy always thought they were more annoying than anything else anyway.

Boy sat up in bed, feeling around for the edge of the bed. Finding it, he swung his legs round and felt his feet hit the cold stone floor.

Suddenly, boy felt energy flow through him, like arcs of lightning had shot through his veins. He got to his feet and took a deep breath in, feeling this new power course through him. It was intoxicating.

He heard the sounds of a metal door opening behind him. "Ah, good, yer awake. We've got a lot to talk about, so you might wanna sit down." Boy then heard the owner of the voice shut the door behind him, walk over and sit down on the bed he had been lying in.

"Right then, first off is your current condition. You have thirty nine deep scars on your back and one on your face. These are, unfortunately, too deep to ever fully heal. You had a number of poorly healed broken bones, these have been corrected. The chemical burns around your eyes and on your eyelids were easy enough to heal, and we were able to regrow what was burned away of your eyeballs as well. Unfortunately they will always be that milky white color and they will never function again. Any questions so far?"

'Boy' didn't really know what to say to that, so he just kept quiet.

"You can understand me, can't you lad?"

"Y-yes." Boy finally managed to say. They just sat in silence for several minutes after that.

"W-who are you? Where am I?" Boy squeaked out.

"Oh aye, how rude of me, I am Yarak. I am a dwarf. You are currently underground in a dwarven city."

"Dwarf?" asked boy, slowly starting to gain some confidence.

"Er, yes. Imagine a man, aye? Now imaging him shorter and wider, with more muscles and a big, magnificent, glorious bushy beard. That's what dwarves look like. I rescued you from those people you were living with before, brought you here and took you to some healers who healed your injuries."

'Boy' couldn't understand this concept at all. Why would someone rescue him? After all he was nothing but a freak, right? He deserved everything he got.

As if he could read the boy's thoughts, Yarak said, "Those people obviously hated you, you should treat everything bad they ever said to you or about you as a lie."

Then Boy remembered the realization he had come to while he was being beaten up by Dudley in the graveyard. There was no reason that he could think of that would result in their hatred. They did it for no reason. They probably thought in was amusing.

Boy felt the anger start to swirl once again in the pit of his stomach. The hatred. The burning desire to see their heads mounted on sticks.

Then he felt a massive hand rest on his shoulder. "This is what they would want, child. They would want you to become bitter and spiteful. They would want you to waste you life hating them and wallowing in self-pity. Instead, you should try and become the best person you can be. They would hate that, to see you escape from the chains they put you in and rise above them, become better than they could ever hope to be."

With that, 'Boy' felt his anger dissipate. Instead he broke down, tears spilling from his newly regrown tear ducts. He felt a strong pair of arms bring him into a bear hug and allowed himself to cry for his lost years of childhood, all the while resolving to recover from the abuse, emerging stronger than ever.

/

While Harry James Potter prepared himself for the upcoming trial, he thought back over the last 6 years spent in Stagnum hold, under the care of Adviser Yarak.

Through use of the council's drones, which are shaped like a large beetle, the Dwarves had discovered his name, who his parent were, and what people had thought about his disappearance from the surface world. The muggle world didn't know who he was (since the Dursleys had never registered his sudden appearance on their doorstep), but they had been happy for him over his rescue at the hands of the dwarves. The whole incident at Number 4 had been recorded by a number of news crews, however the bit where the wizard popped in was never shown. Yarak reckoned they had covered it up because if the muggle world discovered the existence of the wizarding world, the purebloods in power would go on a rampage.

The result of this, however, was that the entire world had seen the state the 4-year-old Harry Potter was in as Yarak carried him out of the house. Apparently a number of people wanted to know how he was getting on, but no one from the muggle world demanded that he be handed back to them.

The wizarding world, however, was another story entirely. Those in power, seemingly headed by one Albus Dumbledore, were under the impression that the Dwarves had stormed into Number 4, killed poor Vernon Dursley and beaten up and kidnapped Harry. The many muggleborn's already in the wizarding world knew by now not to contradict the pureblood's, lest they lose whatever pitiful job they had manage to scrape off the bottom of the barrel. The muggleborns coming into the wizarding world were quickly disabused of the notion that they had a voice. They were either shunned or beaten up if they dared say anything that contradicted their betters.

However, sad as this was, this was neither Harry's problem, nor was there anything he could do to help.

After he had somewhat recovered from the emotional trauma his relatives put him through (though he still had occasional nightmares), he had attended the Dwarven equivalent of primary school. There were, however, several key differences between human school and dwarf school. To start with dwarf school ran from 8:00 in the morning till 6:00 in the evening. The subjects taught were also massively different. They were taught Runes, Maths, Smithing, Engineering, Battle Tactics, Weapons Training, Fitness Maintenance and History. Sometimes a specialist combat instructor would come in to teach about specific types of combat, either against other sentient races or creatures.

As well as this Harry and Yarak had been working to further his mastery of his his element: Earth. He could now with a few gestures influence rock and earth. Move it, shape it, fling it at annoying goblins, you name it. He could create sculptures, walls, houses and with enough time, a castle. Though to create a castle was several days work.

It was during these lessons that Harry found a substitute for the loss of his eyesight. If he was barefoot, Harry could use the subtle vibrations running through the rock to tell him the locations of people, structures, anything really. Since dwarves didn't use paper or parchment, rather stone slates or metal objects for carving runes into, he could also use his ability to read anything Stagnum had to offer. He could also tell when something was moving underground as well, which became really handy when he and Yarak went out hunting rockworms.

Speaking of rockworms, he had, like all dwarf children, began eating rockworm flesh as the main part of his diet at the age of 5. It had done for him just what it did for all those around him. He was now, for want of a better term, ripped. Compared to the rest of his species, Harry was a walking tank, a wall of muscle. He was also about average height (for a human). He would be taller, but the years of near starvation had quite an adverse effect of his vertical growth.

Despite not being a dwarf, he was excelling at dwarven school. There were 6 other dwarves his age attending the same school, and he was top of his class. Like Yarak had initially recommended, he had converted his leftover hatred for the Dursleys into passion for his studies, and dived headfirst (sometimes literally when it came to combat training) into his work.

His weapons of choice was a pair of one handed mallet's, as Harry found he could use them _with_ his element. You see, to influence his element in certain ways, he needed to make certain 'moves'. The moves themselves looked like a martial art, with specific stances, punches, kicks and an occasional headbutt. With the mallets he used them as he would his fists, but this way he could use his element and still have hold of his weapons.

He had forged the Mallet's himself, just as all Dwarves made their own weapons. He had crafted them out of an alloy his adoptive father had come up with. The same alloy he had made his mechanical arm out of. He had jokingly called it Armium after that. It was a mixture of Dwarven Iron, regular Iron, Goblin Steel and Titanium. The result, while not exactly light weight, was excellent at receiving a large number of complex runes and enchantments.

So after forging the Mallet's he and Yarak had set about adding those runes and enchantments. The result of two years hard work in both smithing class and his free time (which was very little after school, elemental training, rockworm hunting and using his element to sometimes help to defend against goblin raids) were two mallet's that were: keyed to his element, making them less likely to take any damage from being smashed into rocks; extremely heavy to anyone but him; likely to react quite violently if picked up by anyone wishing to do him harm; able to be summoned into his hands on a whim and with still quite a bit of space left for more runes, though sadly no more blood based ones.

He was snapped out of his musings when he heard a loud roar from the arena. It sounded like either an ogre or a troll. Good, he thought, at least they would be facing something tough for their first trial. He looked around at the other six dwarves in his class, three male, and three female. Apart from a very slight difference in height, they were not all that different from him physically. They were only just starting to slow down in terms of vertical growth, while he was starting to speed up.

He got along with them all well enough, though he hadn't formed any strong friendships. They did, however, work very well in a team, just as they had been trained to. Without this, Harry doubted the elders would allow the seven 11-year-old's to take on a troll or an ogre, as seemed to be the case.

During dwarven education, there were three 'trials'. The first one, taken as soon as the class reached the age of 11, would be done as a team and would usually be to slay a large creature. The second, taken when the class reached the age of 15, was done in teams of three, with the top members of the class doing multiple trials if the class didn't have either 3, 6, 9, or 12 members. This trial could be anything, from a logic puzzle with a dangerous twist, to a creature filled obstacle course. You wouldn't know until you entered the arena.

The third trial was a lot less imaginative, but for many a lot more exciting. Once every member of the class reached 17 years or age, the class as a whole was apprenticed under a company of dwarves in the Lord's army for the period of one year. Each of the most senior dwarves would take a 'youngun' under their wing. It would be their responsibility to protect the 'youngun' in their care, give them tips and pointers in battle situation, continue their training in combat and tactics on the side, and give them experience in battle situations.

There was plenty of opportunities for this, as there was a goblin raid every other month or so. Luckily, this presented relatively little danger to the apprentices, as while goblins are excellent one on one fighters, the concept of teamwork was all but alien to them. Goblins are, by their very nature, selfish. If you can escape death by pushing your best friend onto a spear, a goblin won't hesitate to do so. Added to that the fact that goblins tend to try to get in, grab something valuable and get out again, there was very little in terms of pitched battles.

Apprentices deaths are few and far between, and they will usually relish the opportunity to pick the brains of an experienced soldier for a year. The older warriors also look forward to training apprentices, as after centuries of combat, an excitable and eager 17 year old dwarf gives them something to occupy their time with.

Back to the task at hand though, Harry, with nary a thought, summoned his mallets to his hands from where they had been resting on the ground and mentally prepared himself for the challenge ahead. The class had been going over the tactics for this for weeks, knowing just when the task was going to happen (that being on Harry's 11th birthday, as he would be the last in the class to turn 11, this was to be the day of the trial) and that it was going to be some sort of dangerous creature to slay. He had also been restricted to using his element for self defense purposes only, to make it fair on the other Dwarves in the class. He wasn't the only one trying to make his parents (adoptive though they may be) proud, after all.

The task was the class's responsibility, and as such no teachers were allowed to help with the planning and tactics. They could give general advice and tell them the kind of creatures that had been used in the past, but that was it. Thus, the class had used the last few weeks of 'Battle Tactics' class to plan, giving the teacher some time off.

He knew his role. As the self defense 'tank' of the group, the class was going to use him to full effect. He was to put himself in front of any attacks the creature could put forth and use his mallets and his element to shield himself and the others. After all, it was self defense, even if he had deliberately put himself in a position where he _needed_ to defend himself.

Meanwhile, the twins Dralin and Kalin would use their large two handed axes to rain down heavy, crushing blows whenever an opportunity presented itself. Next came Balin, the beefiest of the group, he wielded a massive warhammer and would alternate between helping to defend and providing a distraction/ target for the beast.

Then there were the female members of the class. Duri and Kar, who were the best of friends and did everything together, both favored heavy shot spears, that both were quite adept at throwing like javelins. And due to the runes that they had put on, similar to Harry's Mallet's, they could summon them right back again after they had impaled a target. Added to that the fact that they had nasty sets of barbs along the blade meant for quite a cruel weapon. They would stay back and try to destroy the bests vital senses, like eyes (if it had any) from a distance.

And lastly was Harg, the sort of unofficial leader of the group. While Harry was by far the most effective warrior, her head for tactics was something else entirely. She favored a broadsword and shield combo. While the sword was nothing special, the shield was extensively enchanted and covered in runes, almost as much as the massive shields the Elite guard use. After an extensive amount of begging and haggling, she had finally convinced Harry to get hold of enough of his adoptive father's Armium to make it out of. From his past (and painful) experience she used it as much a club as she did a shield, and with good reason.

The ingenious way that the shield was shaped, meant that it didn't as much block a hit as deflect it off to the side. The shield was in a pyramidal shape, which allowed hits to bounce off to the side, and when her opponent's weapon arm was off to one side, she would get inside his guard and smack them in the face with the shield. It was, to say the least, very effective.

Harry was snapped out of his musings once more as the heavy metal doors to the Colosseum-like arena groaned open. With Harry in the lead as the defense specialist, the group stepped forth as one to meet their trial creature.

**AN: I do like my cliffies. **

**As always, please review. I can't do better if you don't tell me where I'm going wrong. Constructive criticism is wanted :D**


	7. The Trial

Disclaimer: Still don't own Harry Potter :(

Chapter 7:

Harry's class was exceptional, even without the presence of an elemental. Their teamwork skills were unrivaled in the hold, their combined aptitude for the subjects Dwarves valued most: Smithing, Runes, Tactics and Combat Training was staggering for there age. The elemental bit was just the cherry on top. So, Harry fully expected for their class to be used as a good example: an "If your class gets to be the best, you might be found to be worthy enough to fight something like this!" kind of example.

Harry had, even before hearing the troll or ogre like roar from the arena, been expecting to face something similar. That being a 12 foot mountain troll with a massive wooden club or a 10 foot ogre with a large jagged rock to hit things with. So, when he took off his foot coverings that prevented him from sensing what was in the arena, he had high expectations, but NOT this. Harry DID NOT sign up to slay this kinda crap.

Harry did a full 'scan' of the 12 foot tall, FULLY ARMORED, GOBLIN BRED, BATTLE TROLL! Complete with massive spiked goblin steel mace and chain and the long horizontal shield built into its left gauntlet. How the hell the elders got hold of one, Harry didn't have a clue. The goblins almost never used these things, except when laying a full on siege, the type not seen for hundreds of years. The dwarves had long ago proven themselves masters of defense. The goblins had all but given up trying to actually take Stagnum, instead trying to just rob it whenever it tickled their fancy.

The troll's armor was thick and spiked, its helm covered the upper half of its face, leaving only its rotten maw out in the open. The helm itself was, like the rest of the armor was made of goblin steel, and was fashioned to look as menacing as possible, with spikes jutting from the back of its massive head and with narrow, slitted eyes.

In war, the beasts were used to lead the initial charge into a breached section of wall during a siege. One swipe with any of the weapons they used was enough to send ten dwarves flying, their insides turned to mush by the sheer strength they possessed.

However that was during a cramped battlefield, and this was a large open arena. The troll would be pretty slow in its full battle armor and wielding that massive spiked mace and chain. They could use that to their advantage.

As the group made their way out into the open, dressed in pitiful leather armor, the troll finally seemed to spot them and let out a grunt of challenge, holding up its weapon with two hands.

In response, the group got into the agreed upon formation, with Balin the beefcake up front, providing a target for the beast, and Harry just behind, ready to leap in and take the hits. The axe wielding twins Dralin and Kalin were just behind Harry and a couple of meters out to the side, ready to try and flank it. The two spear wielding girls Duri and Kar would take a twin each and form a tag team with them, staying behind him and throwing those nasty spears at any exposed flesh.

Harg would stay behind the Harry/ Balin team and use her brilliant tactical mind to decide on the best way to defeat the foul creature quickly and easily, with the lowest possible risk.

As one, the group edged forwards.

The troll's 'kill everything that moves' training finally kicked in and it charged, as planned, straight at Balin, swinging its great weapon over its head to bring it in a downwards arc onto Balin's head. Balin motioned for Harry to wait, and leapt to the side, avoiding the strike. He rolled smoothly to his feet and, using all his bulk, brought the heavy warhammer in a sideways motion, catching the trolls hands where it held the chain.

It's hands jerked to the side, following the motion of Balin's hammer but it kept a tight hold upon the chain. Quicker than anyone anticipated the troll used a massive foot to kick Balin straight in the chest,as if kicking away an irritating dog, sending him flying. It then started to trudge towards Balin, who was lying unmoving on the ground several meters away.

Harry quickly set about distracting the beast, throwing a mallet at its head. The mallet bounced off the helmet, but it did its job, giving him the beasts undivided attention while Harg went to check on Balin.

Seeing the troll swinging up its mace and chain once more, Harry took up a solid stance and slammed his foot down into the ground. In front of him a jagged pillar of rock shot up from the previously flat stone surface of the arena to intercept the heavy spiked metal object heading for his head. The two objects met about level with the trolls head, as Harry had hoped they would, and the top of the pillar shattered, spraying out dust and chunks of rock in all directions.

The troll instinctively brought a hand up to cover its face and staggered back. Harry saw the twins and the two girls, who so far had been slyly making their way around either side of the troll, move in to take a few hits while it was distracted. Satisfied that the troll had enough on it's plate for now, Harry turned back to check on Harg and Balin. Harg, who was now getting to her feet after checking on Balin, put her arms together to make a triangle shape. Understanding the gesture, Harry twisted his foot sharply and a rudimentary stone tent formed over Balin's unconscious form.

Harry turned back to examine the battlefield. The twins and the two girls were doing a fine job of keeping it distracted, dodging, lunging forwards only to pull back when the troll went to defend itself. The two girls were lobbing the occasional spear at the trolls maw, trying to lodge it in its throat. Harry tried to find any other subtle weak points in the trolls armor, but could find none. What wasn't covered in armor had a layer of chain mail. The goblins were very thorough.

Harry felt Harg stop to stand at his side. Hopefully she would have an...

"I have an idea." Oh good, that was alright then.

"You're not going to like it." Oh. Yeah. Shit. It was one of _those _idea's. The suicidal ones.

Harry sighed, somehow he had known something like this would happen. It was his luck. "Go on then, lay it on me" he told her. And she did.

Harry started by creating a 12 foot tall, thick stone wall. He then set his face in a cold mask of determination, and headed towards the 12 foot fully armored goblin bred battle troll, which he would be distracting for a good 5 minutes, while Harg set up and explained the plan to the remaining members of the team. 5 minutes he had to distract it for. Balin ha lasted, what, a good ten seconds? This was going to be fun.

Yarak and he had come up with a method for putting more power into strikes with his mallet's, but the amount of power put in was completely crazy and he would never need it unless he decided to take up employment as the Lord's personal siege capable battering ram. Even then it would be easier to just throw rocks at the enemy. But he was restricted to just defensive uses of his element. Shit.

So after taking a couple of seconds to prepare himself, he gestured for the others to go and meet Harg behind the wall and lobbed a mallet at the trolls spiky head, once again earning its undivided attention.

After summoning back his mallet, he felt the thing stare back incredulously. After a couple of seconds it grunted as if to say "Fine, I'll kill you first," and lumbered forwards.

This time, however, Harry also charged at the troll, gripping his mallets tightly. He sensed the massive spiked goblin steel ball arcing towards him. He brought his right mallet in an upwards arc, as if to meet the mace with it to try and block it like one might block a strike with a sword. A crazy concept as there was a large difference in the masses of the two objects that were about to meet. Indeed many of the watching crowd of parents and elders watched with wide eyes as the human seemingly committed suicide.

At the last second however, Harry drove the heel of his foot into the ground and like before a jagged pillar of rock shot upwards from the ground. This time, however, it impacted the back of Harry's mallet at a very high speed causing the Hammer to gain a massive amount of momentum. With an ear splitting clang, the two objects met with a titanic force and each were driven back wards, the mace up into the air, and the mallet flew towards the back of the arena, wrenched from Harry's grip.

The troll staggered backwards, trying to bring its weapon under control and Harry quickly summoned back his wayward mallet. After finally regaining control of it's weapon, the troll gave Harry a look of disbelief before shaking its head and charging once again. Harry repeated his tactic once again, and for a second time the two objects met with a titanic force, letting out a deafening clang around the arena.

Thus Harry and the troll sparred. The troll was very limited in what it could actually do, with the immense weight of the armor and weapon it carried around, it was too slow moving to try and catch his more agile opponent by surprise. And of course Harry couldn't use his element for anything other than defense. Harry and the Battle Troll: The Unstoppable Force and The Immovable Object.

After what seemed like an eternity, Harry finally caught sight of the twins moving around either side of the troll, making to stand well behind him. After they were in position, it was Harry's job to make sure the troll was facing the right way. He maneuvered around so that on their next strike the troll would be ready: with its back to the stone wall Harry had summoned for Harg before he had started his 'distraction'.

After the next god-like clash of forces, the troll staggered back, now in the right position. After it had straightened up again, Harry screamed at the top of his voice "NOW!"

The twins who were now behind and either side of Harry had abandoned their own weapons and instead each held one of the girl's spears. As Harry gave the signal, they both threw the spears high in the air above their heads.

At the same time, the girls who were now stood behind and to either side of the 12 foot wall of stone summoned their spears back to their hands. The spears in response flew back towards the girls.

And in between encountered the troll.

A spear hit each of the trolls shoulder pauldrens. Not with enough force to penetrate the thick armor, but enough to drive the troll back. Slowly but surely, the troll was pushed towards the wall, still struggling against the two spears. One step. Two steps. Three.

Eventually it reached the wall, where it found itself pinned down by the shoulders, still holding its chain like a lifeline.

Harry, his job not quite finished yet dropped one mallet and gripped the other with two hands. He swung himself around three times and let go of the hammer.

It sailed in a high arc across the arena. The mallet landed fair and true, bopping the troll on the top of his spiky noggin. This had the desired effect of the troll looking upwards to see what had hit him. A side effect of looking up of course being to open its mouth.

Harg then stepped swiftly out from behind the stone wall and, wasting no time, jumped up pushing herself off the trolls thigh, grabbed the top of the trolls chest plate with her left hand and pulling herself up to drive her trusty broadsword into the roof of the beasts mouth before pushing off of the breastplate with her feet and landing smoothly, rolling to her feet. All in one graceful, fluid motion.

The troll barely had time to grunt in surprise before it met it's end. And being pinned to the wall by the spears it just stood there, its face set in a comical expression of surprise, until the girls canceled their summoning from behind the wall.

The plan had worked perfectly. And Harry hadn't died!

The five conscious Dwarves and the human then preceded to cheer and hug each other as the parents and elders (who had been watching in the stands) rushed into the arena, cheering and holding mugs of ale. As is custom, there would now be a large banquet consisting of ale, mead, beer and rockworm cooked in many different and ingenious ways. Roast rockworm, rockworm fillets, rockworm kebabs, rockworm burgers, rockworm curry, you name it, the dwarves have tried it. On an interesting side-note, the drinking age in the Stagnum was, in legal scripture, 'after the first trial'...

/

When Harry was shaken awake by Yarak the next day, he was still on the large banqueting table holding a mug of mead, the events after the trial last night was anyone's guess. His throbbing headache could attest to his condition.

He lay there moaning for several minutes before he experienced a bucket of icy water tipped over his head. He quickly spluttered awake, cursing the name of whoever had caused him to be roused from his peaceful slumber. THEY WOULD RUE THE DAY THEY DARED TO...

Oh. Yarak. And he had his serious face on.

Shit.

**AN: I had fun writing that one. As you may or may not have guessed I have taken a lot of inspiration for the elemental power from Avatar: the last air bender. And that's the cartoon series, not the shitty film. We don't talk about that.**

**Please Review!**


	8. Revelations

Disclaimer: Still don't own Harry Potter :(

Chapter 8: Revelations

Harry lay on his bed in Yarak's house, thinking about the conversation he'd just had with his mentor and adoptive father. Since he'd just completed his first trial, Yarak had decided to 'bring him up to speed' in terms of a number of topics important to Harry's future.

The first was the full nature of the condition he was (and to a certain extent, still is) in when he was first brought to Stagnum hold all those years ago. First and foremost there were a number of blocks on his magic, limiting him to only about 25% of his power. These were removed as soon as they were detected, by carving a few miniscule runes on his chest (they were so small, Harry hadn't even noticed them in the 5 years he had them), so the blocks had not been effecting him since before he had started training.

What was important about this, was the fact that the Council, even with using their spy drones on the wizarding world, had no idea who placed them there or of their intent. They could be malicious in nature, just as they could have been intended to protect him from his own power, or they could simply have allowed his birth parents to control him better as a babe. There was just no way of knowing. However, if they had been malicious, then it meant that someone out there both wanted to control Harry and had the access necessary to do so.

The second was the nature of his scar. Initially, he had been told that it was a curse scar, and still had dark magic running through it. The truth was much more disturbing. The extensive medical scans done on the scar showed that it had it's own consciousness (dormant as it may be) capable of thought. It had it's own magical core, separate from Harry's. And lastly, it had a magical link to something far beyond the borders of the hold.

The conclusions drawn from this information were terrifying. Someone, seemingly Voldemort (if in fact the information gleamed from the magical world on the origins of Harry's scar was accurate) had somehow managed to split off an incorporeal part if himself, and attach it to Harry.

The council had been searching for answers in the archives but, as they had expected, found nothing. The reason for this was very simple. Dwarves, while very similar to wizards in terms of magical ability, had just not gone down the same route wizards had. They had done extensive work enhancing their skills in runes, enchantments, and the use of them in engineering. While wizards had discovered a very effective magical foci, and done work into understanding the uses it had. They had just gone down different routes. There was no reason a Dwarf couldn't pick up a wand and start casting spells.

However, dwarves had no understanding of what a magical being could do with a wand. They had no knowledge of magic as the humans knew it. Therefore they had no idea of what to do about Harry's scar. Trying to force it out could have devastating consequences to Harry, there was again no way of knowing.

This leads nicely onto the next topic they had discussed: the magic humans had developed. It had truly immense potential. And the council wanted to understand it, however after finally locating Britain's magical school using a drone, they had discovered it to be massively warded. It wasn't possible for a drone to sit in on classes, unfortunately. And even if it was, the council doubted it's be much use, as without someone to describe exactly how it felt to have their magic channeled out through a wand, and without a wand to examine for themselves, there was little they could get in terms of information.

The only way for the dwarves to get knowledge of the potent magic the humans had developed was to send someone to attend the wizarding school. However, since the magical world in Britain now believed that the Dwarves had, if fact, kidnapped Harry, the council very much doubted they'd permit a dwarf to attend. So that left Harry himself.

The council had been pondering just how to get Harry enrolled, when a Hogwarts acceptance letter was delivered to the Dwarvish Embassy in London on Harry's 11th birthday. Very convenient.

With that, the conversation turned towards preparation.

The first thing to worry about was Harry's safety. The first issue on the surface world was the Headmaster of Hogwarts Albus Dumbledore. His actions thus far had been a massive hindrance to the Dwarven reintegration into the surface world. Magical Britain now _despised_ Dwarves, because the Headmaster had told the press that the Dwarves had kidnapped Harry, beaten the living daylight out of him, and killed his Uncle. Added to that, he had been the one to initially place Harry at his abusive relatives. Added to _that_ was his attack on Yarak when he went to retrieve the lad.

Sufficed to say, Dumbledore hadn't exactly been helpful.

However, you also had to consider his point of view. First, he sees a Dwarf in full armor breaking down the door to Harry's home. So he attacks first, and asks questions later. This could well have been an attempt to do what he thought was protect Harry from a violent, burly dwarf. He then flees with a bullet in his buttock.

Next up, he hears that the Dwarf in question had taken Harry to an underground stronghold. So he tells the wizarding world that he's been captured, as he could well have thought that this was the truth. Also potentially trying to act in Harry's best interests.

There was no evidence that he knew about the abuse, there was no evidence he knew that the Dwarves were acting in Harry's best interests. It was well known that the wizarding world payed no attention to the muggle world, so he wouldn't have watched the telly or known that the Dwarves had been working with the muggle world for quite some time now. This whole thing could be a massive misunderstanding.

But, then again, he could have known about everything. He could be trying to control and manipulate Harry for his own ends. There was no way of knowing. So, Harry would prepare or the worst when he ventured out into the surface world.

Harry Potter was coming to Hogwarts.

/

The next few days were spent learning about the surface, both muggle and magical, from a few members of the council. In terms of the muggle world, there weren't a massive number of differences between modern Britain and Stagnum apart from the culture. They spoke the same language, even though the written words the humans used were very different from the runes he was used to, but being blind he wouldn't be expected to read them anyway. They had a currency, instead of just trading for things. That would take some getting used to, but not undo-able. It was just basic maths, a subject he'd been taught at school for the last 5 years.

The machines used weren't that different either, granted they didn't use runes to make them work, but their function was similar all the same. The only major thing was cars, the closest thing Stagnum had to those were Trams, but it wouldn't take much to get used to the idea.

Next they talked about the progress the Dwarves had made getting along with the non-magical humans. So far, they had traded in some raw material, exchanged some technology and blueprints, and hired out their services as engineers and miners. Most notable was their assistance in building the Channel Tunnel between Britain and France. While there were a few Dwarves living on the surface, they were only in the Embassy. Others came to the surface as needed using a large elevator that ran between the British Embassy in Stagnum and the Dwarven Embassy in London.

Now, the magical world was another kettle of fish entirely. Soon after the announcement of Harry's kidnapping and the breaking of the Statute of Secrecy at the hands of some Dwarves, the Purebloods reacted as expected. They went on a homicidal rampage, not against muggleborns however, against the 'outcast' dwarves living on the surface. Dwarves were soon being arrested, tried without getting a chance to defend themselves (after all they're not even human, why should they have any rights? They're animals) and subsequently receiving the dementor's kiss.

Muggleborn's and some half-bloods that had watched the debacle with the Dwarves on the muggle side of things, knew better. However if they spoke out, they were soon shunned, beaten up, fired from any job they might have and put out onto street. Therefore, most just kept quiet.

As a result though, tension between those in power and the masses (after all, Pureblood's only make up about 10% of the population of Wizarding Britain) was higher than ever. There had even been a few minor uprisings by muggleborns, however due to fear of loss of just about everything, the few groups that attempted to rebel had found that they couldn't recruit any significant number of people. And those few that were involved soon found themselves in front of a court waiting to receive the dementor's kiss.

Any that dared to lead such a group fell under the worst punishment however. They found themselves watching each member of their immediate family be kissed, before they were themselves. Children and the elderly were not spared. After all, they were only muggles and muggleborns, less than human. Who cares?

Harry had known the bigotry was bad up there, but this was down-right disgusting. Punishing innocents for the crimes of a family member? This was humanity at it's worst, and he had initially, once he had heard this, refused to go up there. However the council had then pointed out that, as the 'Boy-Who-Lived', he had a certain amount of political power. He could help change people's opinions. He could help the muggleborns recover from their bad reputation. He could build up a reputation for himself, then use it to destroy the bigotry.

With this in mind, Harry grudgingly accepted that it would be beneficial for everyone if he were to go to Hogwarts.

The next thing he discussed with the council was how to protect himself from manipulation. They weren't too worried about physical attacks, after all he had his mallets and his element, and he was going to be living in a stone castle. He'd be okay on that front.

The council then showed Harry something they had come up with since they had first discovered the branch of human magic called Potions. It was a small rune that vibrated whenever a Potion, or something containing a Potion came close to it. They had then had a healer come in and carve the rune onto the back of one of his front teeth. Ingenious. Without more knowledge however, they couldn't discover what type of Potion it was that he was about to be dosed with. Of course, living in a completely different world, they had little to no knowledge on even the ingredients that could be used in Potions. They just couldn't be found in Stagnum.

They then told harry about the practical uses for one of the things all young dwarves are taught: Meditation. The wizards called it Occlumency. It was used to organize one's mind to have near perfect recall and to help it to focus, and was one of the few things that both Dwarves and wizards had developed.

The wizards, however, had gone a step further and developed a way to break into someone's mind against their will, and had subsequently developed a way to use Occlumency to defend against such an attack. He would need to develop the defense aspect of the skill as soon as possible. He would either need to find a book (and someone to read it to him) or a teacher and the means to pay him or her once he had returned to the surface world.

So, the plan:

One: Learn magic as the humans knew it from Hogwarts.

Two: Make friends from all backgrounds and walks of life. Magical creatures, muggles, muggleborns, half-bloods, purebloods.

Three: Slowly but surely reduce bigotry in the wizarding world by influencing the youths around him and by using his not insignificant political power, mostly by giving interviews to the daily prophet and talking to high ranking members of society.

Simple enough, right?

...Right...?

**AN: So yes, Harry's going to Hogwarts. Woooo. It's going to be a Harmony fic (eventually) so how could we avoid it? He's going to be pretty prepared, but don't worry, even the best plans rarely survive contact with the enemy. There'll be plenty of shit coming his way. The story won't get boring cus Harry can use his power to just magic everything away. It's not one of those fic's.**

**Review!**


	9. Meeting new people

Disclaimer: still don't own Harry Potter :(

**AN: Just to clear up any confusion over the current condition of Harry's eyes. The Dwarves were able to heal the soft tissue in and around them, so no chemical burns. However they are colored milky white (for now ;) and he is unable to use them in any way, seeing as the dwarves don't have the knowledge or ability to heal the destroyed nerves. He is able to 'see' using his elemental ability: he feels (and interprets) the vibrations in the ground through his feet, giving him a very accurate picture of people, animals and they environment around him (as long as they are in contact with the ground). In fact, his ability could be considered more accurate than eyesight as he could feel if someone was sneaking up on him or waiting for him around a corner. The downside is it has a more limited range than regular eyesight. I've borrowed this concept from the awesome cartoon series Avatar: the last Airbender. Hope that helps.**

Chapter 9: Meeting new people

Harry Potter emerged from the Dwarven Embassy in London, feeling the sun on his face and the wind in his hair for the first time in 7 years. While he loved Stagnum and his adoptive parents, he had missed the simple feeling of being outdoors. While at the Dursleys, he had always enjoyed gardening. Not because he was particularly fond of plants, on the contrary: he now hated rosebushes with a fiery passion. No, it was because he could find some solitude from being outside. The Dursleys usually left him alone while he was in the garden working.

Using his element, he took a moment to examine the building itself. Like all Dwarven buildings it was made of stone, with thick pillar like corners that stood out further than the walls themselves. It was rectangular in shape and had two floors, the top half of the building being slightly smaller than second in terms of length and width. In the space between the outer walls of the second floor and the edge of the building, there was a space for guards to patrol. There were also thick crenelations to protect said guards. There was a fair few meters between the Embassy and other buildings, making it hard for any would be intruder to sneak up unnoticed. It looked more of a fortress than a political building. In London, it stuck out like a sore thumb. But hey, that's Dwarves for you.

The Dwarven warriors that patrolled around the building looked magnificent in their thick shiny armor and each wielded both a ranged weapon and a melee weapon. Ranged weapons could be anything from a crossbow to javelins to throwing axes. Melee weapons were even more varied, with swords, spears, axes, hammers, mace-and-chains, and big heavy spiked gauntlets. There was even one old-timer there with a long spiked chain-whip.

There were 4 guards constantly patrolling the perimeter of the building on the second floor and two guards either side of the front entrance. The doors themselves was thick made entirely of the bronze-gold colored 'Dwarven Iron' that dwarves are so fond of and had a large, bearded face sculpted masterfully into the metalwork of each of the double doors.

The Embassy kept a garrison of eighteen dwarven warriors that were rotated every few weeks with others from the hold. Other than them, the only dwarves in the building were usually only there temporarily. A representative from a human company would register an interest in hiring out a dwarven companies services, and a representative from a dwarven company would take the lift up from Stagnum hold and then they would discuss the terms of an arrangement. That was how human-dwarven trading and hiring was done.

Lord Kror had visited the surface a couple of times over the years to meet with the prime minister, but in all nothing had changed in terms of politics or living arrangements since the Embassy was set up.

As Margaret Thatcher had predicted, dwarven people had given a number of interviews on the television and radio and the curiosity died down. There was even a camera crew allowed to live in Stagnum for a month in 1988, and people got to see how the dwarves lived and worked. People saw that, just like them, Dwarves went to school (albeit a _very_ different experience), made friends, got jobs, fell in love, had kids, grand kids, great grand kids and then died.

Being a warrior race not many lived to be 450, but compared to the non magical humans who lived to be 75 on average in Britain, they generally had a long enough life. A hundred years, while not anywhere near the expected life-span of a dwarf, is still a hundred years. Thats long enough for some, even given the slower rate of reproduction than humans. Dwarves matured quickly for about 20 years, but once they reached maturity they didn't show signs of age for another good 150 years. Therefore, Dwarven culture had put getting a career over having a family straight away after education. There was no rush, after all.

There wasn't really an 'acceptable' age to get married in Dwarven culture. It could be anywhere between their maturity at 17 years old and 250, which is about middle aged. There were a few later than that, but not many. However, Dwarves were encouraged to become firmly entrenched in a career before starting a family, just because they had plenty of time. No sense rushing things.

Harry, still standing just outside the doors to the embassy, snapped himself out of his musings and focused on the task at hand. He was wearing what he'd been told was pretty normal in the non-magical world: blue jeans, a dark red T-shirt and a pair of trainers. He wasn't cold, far from it, the climate here was very similar to the climate in Stagnum. Up here it was a nice warm temperature because of the sun. In Stagnum it was similar because it was quite a bit closer to the molten parts of the planet below the Crust.

On his shoulder he carried a leather satchel, with a few protective runes engraved into metal panels on the back and side of the bag. There was also a metal pannel on the inside of the bag, with a complicated series of runes that ended up having a similar effect to an expansion charm: it was much bigger on the inside. He carried several precious gems to trade for some money, as well as a vast amount of other equipment. His blacksmith tools, his rune engraving tools, his trusty mallets and the next three years worth of slate's on the subjects he wouldn't be taught at Hogwarts: mostly combat orientated, but also Smithing and Runes.

He would use the money from the stones to buy himself a small house to use for his 'base' on the surface. The plan was to return to Yarak during the summer holidays, but they were aware that Dumbledore might not allow that. This was okay, they had planned for such a possibility. Any anyway, it was only 7 years. Whats that to a Dwarf?

He would also be sure to convert some of the stones into the magical currency, galleons. According to the council, the wizards had trusted their gold and valuables to the bloody goblins of all things. How that relationship worked, Harry had no idea. Probably not very well though.

Harry disliked goblins. His family and their kingdom were at war with the goblins and had been for thousands of years. Granted there were no pitched battles and hadn't been for nearly a millennium now, but there were still raids, border skirmishes, ambushes, that kind of thing. Goblins were known for releasing dangerous creatures into Dwarven mines and tunnels, which was, to say the least, very irritating. He had grown up disliking goblins, and would probably always dislike goblins.

However, he had to deal with them. Not to store his own money there, dear god no. He had been informed that his birth parents had probably stored some valuables at the goblin bank. The council had found out quite a lot about James and Lilly Potter in the last few weeks, apparently in the wizarding world was rife with speculation over whether or not Harry would come to Hogwarts this year. So people had been talking about him quite a bit, and drones had listened in on quite a few conversations about Harry, his birth parents and the supposed 'dark lord'.

People seemed to be afraid to say the blokes name, instead calling him silly names with far too many hyphens. You-Know-Who. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Absolutely ridiculous. And then there was his own hyphenated title, the 'Boy-Who-Lived'. Harry was dreading being called that ludicrous name, he wasn't sure he'd be able to resist the urge to slug the offender in the face.

From what he'd heard of modern wizards though, it didn't sound like they had many brain cells to spare. Or rather those that _were_ vaguely intelligent were muggleborns or half bloods, so they couldn't do anything helpful. Not that purebloods were inherently stupid (although the inbreeding couldn't have helped with that), it was that they generally relied on their lineage to get anywhere in life, and quickly found that to succeed, they just didn't need to work. So they didn't.

This meant of course that there hadn't been any innovation in the wizarding world for a good 250 years.

Even the Dwarves, who were very stubborn and loved their traditions, were innovating as a society. Especially since reconnecting to the non-magical world. Balin, who's father is a weapon smith, was telling him about a new project his father had been assigned to. Apparently, their company had traded with the non-magical government: in return for some knowledge about advanced alloys the dwarves had come up with, they had been given blueprints for several weapon systems and were adapting them to work with runes instead of mechanics and chemistry.

They had gotten designs for an 'assault rifle', a strange artillery piece and something called a 'mini gun'. The humans in return had gotten information about several alloys, the one they seemed most excited about was quite average in terms of strength, but was pretty lightweight and had an extremely high melting point. Difficult to work with, but doable with industrial equipment. They were planning on building some kind of flying machine to go to space with it. Huh.

He was brought out of his musings when, using his element, he sensed a van approaching the street he was standing on at a very high speed, out of sight around the corner. A family of four, two parents and two kids, were about to cross the road.

Harry took off at a run towards them. The van turned the corner at about 60mph, far too fast to stop in time. He reached the family just as the van was about to his them. They had been walking in two pairs, one behind the other. The two girls, the mum and the daughter, had just turned their heads to see the van and had frozen in place, while the two males behind them hadn't yet seen it and were deep in discussion. Harry reached past the boys and grabbed a fistful of clothing attached to each girl and pulled with all his might, walking backwards onto the pavement.

In his desperation, he underestimated his own strength enhanced by years of training and the Dwarven diet of rockworms. Both females were pulled back sharply, struggling to stay on their feet, and slammed into the two males behind them, who followed the momentum and were pulled towards Harry and the pavement behind him. The whole group was yanked onto the pavement where they fell in a heap with Harry on the bottom, the van missing by mere centimeters. Another half a second and they wold have met a sticky, painful, tragic end.

They spent a few seconds just lying there on the pavement panting, the family trying to get over the shock and return to their senses, and Harry trapped underneath the pile of bodies patiently waiting for them to get up. He took the opportunity to 'look' over them properly. The man was middle aged at quite an average height, with short hair, quite a thin frame and thick spectacles (which were now skewed and hanging off his face). He also had an aura of intelligence surrounding him, making him wonder exactly what he did for a career

The boy was around his age, slightly smaller than him height wise and much, much thinner. He was quite skinny, but the weight difference was more to do with Harry's immense muscles than the boy's stature. He, like his (presumably) father, had thick glasses which were now hanging of at a funny angle. Almost a Carbon copy of the man.

The woman was roughly the same age as the man, but unlike many women and especially mothers at her age, hadn't put on any unwanted weight. She had shapely legs, a flat stomach, a small chest, and long flowing hair. Harry would have described her to be be like a model, if not for her height. She was positively tiny, being only about as tall as you could expect a fourteen year old to be. Despite this, however, she was very attractive for someone old enough to be his mother.

The girl was a good mixture of both parents, drawing the best from each, while avoiding the obvious negative traits. She'd avoided her mothers ridiculous height and her fathers poor eyesight, and managed instead to inherit her mothers long flowing hair.

Finally, the adults shakily got to their feet and the kids followed, allowing Harry to stand up.

He got no further than standing up though, as before he or anyone could say anything, the woman threw herself at him and he was enveloped in a bone-crushing hug. "Thankyouthankyoutythankyouthankyouthankyou! Oh my god! You saved my whole family! My babies! Thankyouthankyouthankyou!" Her voice was frantic and hoarse and she was on the verge of breaking down and crying, her whole body was shaking violently.

Then, just as suddenly as she hugged him, she leapt off him, grabbed both her kids and gave them similarly constricting hugs, kneeling down and sobbing into her son's shoulder.

The man then approached him, pulling out his wallet, "Oh, that's quite alright sir, you don't need to give me anything." Harry said quickly.

The man stopped and looked at him thoughtfully, "I want to, I wouldn't feel right not giving you something. You saved my life, and more importantly, my family." His voice, too, was shaky and distressed.

"And I wouldn't feel right accepting you money, sir."

"What's you name son?"

"Harry sir."

"Hey, none of this sir business please. I'm Adam Marshall, and this is my wife Marie and our kids Jock and Susie. If you don't want money, then what can we give you? I want to thank you properly."

"It's really fine Adam, I don't need you to give me anything, I'm sure you would've done the same for me if you saw the need."

The man screwed up his face in thought, before he said "Can we at least invite you around for dinner or something?"

Harry couldn't see anything wrong with that, so he agreed. They arranged for him to come to their family home in Crawley for an evening meal in two days time, and he was given a scrap of paper with their address on it. He was told to invite his parents as well, and he had told them that he doubted they would come as they were very busy at work.

He and Yarak had come up with a cover story when dealing with non-magical's: his parents both ran a shipping company which took up a great deal of their time, because they were currently trying to work out a deal with a French company that were being very tricky to deal with. It would set minds at ease while not being specific enough to cause problems when people try to verify who his parents were.

After promising several times to come to dinner and quite a few more thank you's and hugs from Marie, he left the Marshall family to go and get on with his shopping.

Several hours later, and Harry found with only half of his valuable stones, but quite a bit richer. He now had just over half a million pounds in his bag, in cash. It had been quite tricky finding traders who would pay him in cash, but it had been doable in the end. He now had enough to buy a house to live in when not at school, and just about anything else he could want as well.

However, it was now getting late, and Harry could hardly go house shopping and expect to move in that night. So, he headed back to the Embassy and stayed the night in one of the guest rooms.

/

Harry awoke to the sounds of the city: cars driving, people bustling about, a siren blaring in the distance. Not at all dissimilar to those he woke up listening to every day in Stagnum.

A long day lay ahead of him. Not difficult, or tiring, just not interesting in any way shape or form. He was going shopping. Joy.

If he was to live on the surface for the next few years, he would need to be equipped to do so. That meant clothes, human hygiene equipment, and possibly some small furniture to take into his new house with him (when he gets one). He also had to get some equipment to continue with his Dwarven education. Granted, he wouldn't cover anywhere near enough to keep up with what the others his age group would be doing, but he didn't want to drop them altogether.

So he would need some practice dummies, some metal to work with, and plenty of raw building materials. He was planning on excavating a sizable area a couple of hundred meters below his house to use to train and work with metal and runes. He couldn't exactly do that above ground in a non magical neighborhood. Dwarven blacksmithing was quite a bit more spectacular than the human equivalent.

His 'deep underground basement' wasn't going to resemble some shitty little cave either. No, it was going to have smooth walls, clean floors and tasteful decoration. It would be the very definition of an ideal man-cave: soundproof, secret and with all the comforts of home. But he could think about his house later: for now he had shopping to do.

/

Harry stumbled back into the embassy that evening, feeling quite grumpy. He had been raised by beings with, by their very nature, exceedingly short tempers and the trait had rubbed off on him. He had snapped at many condescending sales assistants that never gave straightforward answers to straightforward questions! _I asked you if you had __training dummies, not gum shields! No, I'm sure I wouldn't rather be playing rugby__! __I don't want to buy any bloody football magazines! AAAARRRRG!_

Despite the immense frustration the shopping trip had been, he had mostly succeeded. He had bought some basic furniture, plenty of metal, a fair bit of coal, food, toiletries, clothes, etcetera. The only thing he had failed to find were training dummies, but he could probably make his own out of stone is he needed to.

He most certainly wasn't looking forward to tomorrow as it would probably prove just as frustrating, is for a different reason. He was going to the wizarding shopping center in London: Diagon Alley.

From what he'd been told, pureblood wizards were raised to have no common sense what so ever, and

half bloods and muggleborns just don't have any say in anything worthwhile in the magical world. So he was mentally preparing himself to observe dangerous levels of stupidity, while resisting the urge to get out his mallets and start braining people. A challenge, but Harry could control his emotions well enough if need be. He was, after all, a seasoned occlumens.

While Harry _is_ adept at controlling himself, most of the time he doesn't. It takes all the fun out of life. What the point if you can't hit people over the head when they get annoying?

He just hoped he would manage to remain anonymous.

**AN: Merry Christmas, and a Happy New Year! So, dear readers, it's 2015! WOOOP! Looking forward to the new Star Wars in only... what?... 11 months? Damn... Oh well, I'll just have to make lots of Dwarven mischief while I wait. **

**Review!**


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